Humble Beginnings
by Litzana
Summary: Before they were cores, they were human. Little bit of swearing, no pairings, yadda yadda. Crappy summary, I know.


Hello!

Welcome to my first Portal 2 fanfic. I can't really describe it in words, but it has an OC in it, and Wheatley. Lots of Wheatley.

**_Humble Beginnings._**

Chapter One: Meat the Team.

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><p><span>*LINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREAK*<span>

_Brrrrrrrrrrrng. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrng._

_BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNG._

A low groan sounded in the small room as the loud alarm buzzer went off. The bed, which held the room's only occupant, squeaks horribly as the occupant in question sat up, rubbing his eyes.

And then he picked up a small mallet and swung it onto the alarm, smashing it into a hundred pieces. The buzzer was swiftly cut off.

The man threw off the covers and stood, the harsh light of the facility 'morning' shining off his bare chest and Aperture-issue pyjama pants. With a yawn he meandered into a smaller room off the main one, feeling around for a pair of glasses.

A few minutes later, he was ready, dressed and presentable – dressed in a pair of once-brown overalls with a white lab coat hastily thrown over it, a pair of working goggles hung around his neck and knee-length boots. He paused by a mirror and ran a hand through his unruly hair – an unusual shade of forest green, matching his green eyes.

As he stepped out of his 'relaxation chamber', doors opened next to his.

"Hey there, Sammy!"

"Oh. Rick. Hi," he said flatly, looking up at the taller man. He, too, had green eyes, though his buzz-cut hair was brown, and he wore a pair of combat trousers and a black shirt underneath his lab coat. His look was rounded off with a 'mountie' hat. "I thought I asked you not to call me that."

He really did /not/ have to deal with his colleague this early in the morning.

"Fact: Rick should not be talking this early in the morning. Rick should be eating delicious fish-shaped whatever-it-is that Konnor made for breakfast," said a flat voice the other side of him.

"Mornin' to you, too, Frank," muttered the big, muscular man, starting to head towards their department's cafeteria.

"Thanks, Francis," muttered the green-haired man. He began to walk too, just slightly slower.

"Fact: Samson looks terrible," said Francis in response. Samson looked sideways at his slightly odd friend. "You think so?"

Francis himself looked… well, slightly odd. Long-ish violet hair and brown stubble decorated his angular face, and he wore a grey shirt that used to be white, suit trousers and the standard-issue aperture tie, again with a lab coat over it.

"Fact: Francis is always right," said the younger man, smiling slightly. This was a running joke though the department – stemming from the internet-obsessed man's inability to tell between true fact and utter bullshit.

Samson smiled. "Yeah, well. I feel terrible. Didn't get any sleep last night – someone taught the Turrets how to sing."

"Fact: Turrets sound nice whilst singing."

"That's more of an opinion, mate."

Francis shrugged.

Samson pushed open the cafeteria doors. Inside was Rick, already chowing down on a plate piled with fish-shaped pancakes, along with two others of their department. They both turned round and grinned at them as Samson and Francis approached.

Every time he saw them together, Samson was always hit by how alike they were. Both blonde, on the verge of ginger, with brown eyes. They both wore a white shirt and white slacks under their labcoats, and both had a slightly wild look in their eyes.

"Ooh! Finally Samson returns from his personal universe!" exclaimed the male of the pair, grinning up at Samson.

"He has a personal universe?" asked the female curiously, glancing at her friend.

"Of course! Guess what it's called!" said the guy, a tone of laughter in his voice.

"Ooh! What? What?"

"Space!"

"Okay, that's enough, you two." Samson rolled his eyes. Sanders and Carrie were a handful at the best of times, and they were another interruption to his morning routine that he didn't want or need.

He left them to their talking and collected a plate of fish-shaped eggs and bacon from the serving hatch, sitting down at one of tables with Francis, away from the others.

"Fact: Sanders and Carrie are annoying first thing in the morning," muttered the violet-haired man, picking at his own fish-shaped breakfast. "Fact: I hate fish."

After seven years of their cook's obsession with fish (and cake, come to that,) you'd think Samson would be used to it too.

…

Nah.

"I know, I don't like it either. But hey, once you get past the fish shape, it's actually pretty good."

"Fact: I still hate fish."

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><p>Like it? Review!<p>

"Fact: Reviews make Litz write faster."

That they do, Frankie.

"Fact: My name is Francis."

...

Anyway, Chapter 2 will be up at some point.


End file.
